


The Ballad of Fitzkred

by Notsalony



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5753320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notsalony/pseuds/Notsalony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our hero trecks through the frozen north of Dark Souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Fitzkred

Part 1

Deep in the heart of the frozen north a warm southern breeze stirs, an outsider from the outer realms has come. The voices of the spirits, like dying embers of light, bring word of his deeds at slaying all who have stood in his path, leaving a wake of destruction in his wake. Fear him oh frozen gods, for he brings the black flame to pierce your icy hearts and take your gilded throne for his own.

And low the man wearing the furies of the slain as tokens of his strength has approached the forsaken castle that is besieged by the dark magic coursing through the ice. Making it manifest into living things, twisting and perverting life into grotesque caricatures of what the gods have formed. Fear him says the wind, do not terry says the snow, he's a bad ass, says the rabbit's spirit slain in rage.

Wander yon spirit, sow thy wild oats and explore to your heart's content, least you see my hidden designs, the mad king crowed atop his lofty perch. Seek they death in my icy clutches seeing only what I wish you to. While you see victory you will know only the fool’s paradise I have crafted for thee. And while you struggle in my lands, you shall never suspect my fingers of closing round about they neck in slow fashion to take from you all you hold dear.

Through raw mountain paths caked in the frozen blood of those who went before, those who foolishly believed they were chosen to take this land, our hero trudged on through the howling winds and the frigid blasts of deathly cold, cutting to the bone with it’s icy chill. Wandering through the stone walls of the defiled keep he made his way to the unhallowed earthen pit beneath the once sacred caves. There he made war upon the unholy blasphemies the dark king had wrought upon this land.

But it was with in reach of the glorious light of day from the frozen fetid depths that our Hero was struck down, his soul torn asunder from the mortal wound that cleaved him from the land of the living to this nightmarish place, now but a memory as he drifted in fertile lands of unparalleled beauty. A woman of rapturous beauty clad only in the green silk robes approached him, healing his wound and with a token from her lips he awoke once more in the frozen depths. Renewed of purpose and of will, he strode through the depths, cutting down all that the dark king threw at him.

Part 2

Enraged and consumed by an unquenchable but nameless dread, the dark king of the frozen wastes sent forth his prized beasts to slay the errant wanderer. But as they seized upon our mighty hero their claws and fangs could find no purchase in his flesh, for the lady’s token sat strong with in his very being, a warding against their futile attempts upon him.

Twice spurned the king did search his ancient powers for a dread storm to dissuade this invader from the unknown lands far to the south of his kingdom, from traversing farther into his domain. A fierce wind cracked the sky as it twisted land and sky into one wall of moving snow. But forwards our hero traveled, his steps sure and true, never did he faultier as he headed on.

Thrice spurned the king could not stand this grave insult to his great pride, and low with in the dread storm of lost souls did he loose his stag. So that by chance or skill it’s mighty horns, long since blessed against the strange magics of this outsider’s kin, might find the man’s heart and bring it back to the king upon which he would feast and devour the man’s might and power.

But the fates sang another tune, and it was our hero’s great and mighty blade that found the heart of the stag. Slaying the beast as it burst into naught but smoke and ash, lost to the never ceasing winds of the dread storm. Onward he crept, never more certain of his quest.

On and on he traveled through this storm that seemed to last forever, did our hero find a lost soul, like unto him trapped with in this unhallowed place. Welcome traveler, all are welcome to the humble host and his host of familiar souls and sympathetic spirits. How may I be of use to thee? The wanderer spoke of his quest and with their merit weighed with in the stranger’s heart, did their bond of friendship strike, and once forged they would see this journey done.

Part 3

At last did our heroes find the edge of the storm, and through it wander into the eye of the dread thing. Here they found the dark king standing straight and tall. Past my armies of ice and armor have you traveled. Through my kingdom have you traipsed. And through mine own home have you pilfered and made trespass against me. On my kin and blood have you made war and low have I tried to stay your advances. But no farther shalt you be permitted. Here and no farther shall you go.

The king threw up his hands and with words twisted from nether places where dark things dream of Eldritch horrors, did the king cast his working out to the stars above. But it was the sickening cry from deep with in his breast that answered his call that struck fear in our heroes’ hearts. And as they stood silent witness to this horror, the dark king turned and twisted, now a monstrous horror that stalked their deaths.

Mighty were the blows of the dark king’s great fangs as they clashed. And with one great swipe of his barbed claws, was our hero’s companion struck down in his prime, leaving a smear of blood and ash to mark where once stood a blood brother. Enraptured by this sight, our hero did not see the strike coming.

He raised his blade once more, and blocked the great claws smeared with his companion’s own blood, and with a curse upon his lips he stepped forth and struck a blow his own. His blade found its home in the King’s monstrous throat and drenched with in the flow of his blood was our hero baptized to this new part of his life.

The king was dead. And as he picked up the king’s crown, its blackened surface covered in the blood that now adorned our hero, he placed this totem upon his brow and with a loud cry did he say, the king is dead, long live the new king. And with those words a new land was born, the land of Fitzkred, championed by the king it needed most.


End file.
